


And still they rise

by finarel



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Beauxbatons, But also Miraculouses, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finarel/pseuds/finarel
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of a muggle and a squib, is a normal witch with a normal life at Beauxbatons. But when the new threat Hawkmoth brings carefully ignored rifts in the Parisian wizarding world to the surface, Marinette must find the strength to fight as her school and her city is swept into a maelstrom of akumas and blood-purity rhetoric.The dark is rising in the hearts of Paris, and all who do not resist will succumb. Marinette does not intend to go gently into the night.





	1. The end.

This is how it ends—

“My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng,” she says, pulse thundering in her throat. “I am Ladybug.”

Wizarding Paris is silent. She stares down at the multitude of faces gathered around the platform on Eiffel Tower that Hawkmoth had chosen as their final battleground.

 

This is how it ends—

“I’ll fight for you,” Marinette vows to them, and hopes that they can put their trust in her despite it all. Hopes that somewhere out there, Chat Noir is listening too. “Don’t let fear divide our city any longer. Don’t let Hawkmoth beat us.”

 

This is how it ends—

With some blood and many words and another promise Marinette intends to keep. And maybe the world does not shed the ugly shadows of mistrust by the time she finally descends from the tower, but she did what she could.

The rest is up to Paris. 


	2. Countdown III

_12 years ago._

Sabine Cheng knew that the hooded visitor knocking on the boulangerie door bore no good news, even before she warily opened the door. A squib she might be, but it didn’t take any kind of magic to see that the visitor looked painfully out of place among the twilight bustle of downtown Paris in a thick hooded robe that swallowed all distinguishable features. The bakery had been closed for a good hour already.

“I’m afraid we’ve closed for the night,” she said with an apologetic smile to hide her apprehensiveness, standing at the doorway. “We open at 7 a.m., if you’d like to come back tomorrow.”

“I am no customer,” the visitor replied in heavily accented French. “You do not open your home to your own blood?”

Sabine frowned, but did not move away from the door.

“Sà Bīn, I came a long way.” A wizened hand pushed the hood down to reveal an imperious, stern face that Sabine remembered fearing—still feared, if she was honest with herself. “You forgot all your manners.”

“Honored Grandmo—” she stopped herself from bowing, inwardly reminding herself that by the woman’s own choice they were no longer kin. The matriarch of the Cheng clan had no power over her anymore. She nodded instead. “Madame Cheng. I didn’t expect you here.”

“You cannot mean that. Your child reeks of magic all the way to Wenzhou,” the woman grunted, then with deliberate movements took out an ornate fan from the folds of her robe. “Come, I will see my great-grandchild.”

Sabine tensed. “I’m sorry, but I think it would be best if you left now,” she replied as steadily as she could, and watched as the old woman’s face grew taut in anger.

“Is something the matter?”

Sabine let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as her husband came to stand behind her. She felt him rest his large hand on her shoulder as he peered out at the old woman.

Tom Dupain was not a violent man, but he could look intimidating when the circumstances called for it. Hono— Madame Cheng looked unimpressed.

“ _This is the mud-roller muggle you left your duty and family for_?” she asked in Mandarin. “ _I had expected more.”_

Sabine raised her head high. “This is my husband, Tom Dupain,” she said sharply, in French. “And I would be grateful if you would leave our family be.”

“I lose patience,” Madame Cheng snapped. “I came a long way to do what is best for the family. Our magic is strong in the girl. I will bring her home.”

Tom stepped in front of Sabine protectively. “Madame, our daughter is already home. Please leave.”

“A muggle and a squib cannot raise a true-blood witch, ” the woman sneered. “My great-grandchild is powerful. Even you can see this. You cannot teach her, you cannot help her. She is worse than a mudblood if you are her parents.” Sabine blanched as Madame Cheng flicked her fan in what she recognized to be the start of some spell. “The child will be a Cheng girl with good heritage. Your sister will be a good mother. It is best for her, and it is best for you. _Obey!_ ”

The fan snapped down decisively with the barked command. Nothing happened. The older woman repeated the motions, to no avail. Madame Cheng and Sabine stared at each other.

Tom took advantage of the stunned silence to pull Sabine further into their home.

“Farewell,” he growled, then slammed the door in Madame Cheng’s face. Sabine locked it quickly, then put her ear to the keyhole.

The woman let out an impressive series of filthy swears, but did not sound like she was attempting to force her way in. A few more curses spat at their door, and then all that could be heard were her retreating footsteps, then only the quiet bustle of a Parisian night.   

After a long pause, Tom took Sabine’s hand.

“Who was that? Why did she want our daughter?”

Sabine grimaced. “That was the head of the Cheng clan, I’m afraid. I didn’t expect her to try to take Marinette, even if she is rather precocious.”

They both understood what she meant by “precocious”—the amount of magic exhibited by Marinette, who had barely turned a year old, far exceed what Sabine had ever seen in any child. Tom’s knowledge of magic was limited to what little he had heard her say about that world, but she knew even he could see that it might not be normal for flowers to sprout from the floor as their little girl tottered across the room.

Sabine did not speak of the wizarding world often. To the Cheng clan, the only use for a witch-child without magic was to pass on the blood to hopefully more magical offspring through matches made with similarly useless scions of other magical families. Always on the outside looking in, unable to join her foster-siblings, Sabine had never felt free until the day she had been disowned. She had only told Tom the bare details because he deserved to know where she had come from and what their children could become a part of. If Sabine could have had her way, her daughter would have been firmly and safely non-magical, never garnering the dangerous notice of the Cheng clan. But this was not to be so.

“She was trying to use magic to take Marinette, wasn’t she?” Tom asked quietly, and Sabine furrowed her brows at the thought.

“She was, but it looked like she couldn’t do it. I’ve never seen that happen before.”

“Could it have been Marinette?”

Sabine cracked a smile at the thought of her sweet little one-year-old rendering the infamous curseweaver Cheng Li Hua powerless. “I don’t know, but I’m so glad she couldn’t. I don’t think they’ll try again after that fright.”

Tom enveloped her in a tight hug. “Time to see what our little lotus is doing, Sabine.”

Sabine returned the hug just as tightly, then took his hand. Fingers entwined, they walked up to the nursery together.

* * *

_8 years ago._

The mansion that comprised Adrien’s entire world was vast and wonderful and full of magic. Adrien could never imagine wanting to leave it, with its labyrinthine halls begging to be explored and portraits that never failed to smile at him when he walked by.

There were no children his age, but he did not need playmates when he had Monsieur Puffles with him to battle the forces of evil together. Not when Mère sang pretty little lullabies as she stroked his hair for bedtime every night while Père checked under the bed and closets for boggarts.

If he did want company, he had Chloe to come over and chatter at him. Her father was the Minister of Magic, which meant he was almost as important as Père and just as busy. But Mère liked Chloe’s mama, and she always said Chloe was a perfect example of a good pureblood lady. Their playdates were often and long enough to fully tire him out.

Today was a Special Day. That was how Mère referred to birthdays and holidays, stressing the words so he knew the words were capitalized even when they were spoken out loud. And because it was his seventh birthday, it was _his_ Special Day. That meant no work for Père or Mère and a full day of play for him.

Mère said all things deserved to be treated with kindness, from the smallest ant to the most noble unicorn. Mère said all things had their part to play in this world, and all would be well so long as they kept to their stations.

Père didn’t seem to much care either way, but he always told Adrien that it was very important he played his part well. And he did, if Père’s proud smiles and many fond pats were anything to go by.

Adrien stopped skipping when he heard an unfamiliar voice behind the door of one of the more private sitting rooms.

“…had to clear the servants’ salon out when the Carons decided they’d pay a visit. It’s a travesty, filthy half-breeds barging into good people’s homes without invitation and calling it a neighborly visit.”

“Yes, yes, of course the state of the world is a disgrace to all of our families. But you’re sure of this? These are Aunt Blanche’s notes?” Mère sounded excited. The other voice—he couldn’t place it, but it wasn’t completely unknown to him. Perhaps a cousin?—replied more cautiously.  

“Now, Emilie, you should be careful. They’re volatile magics. Sometimes I wish we’d never gotten tangled up in the whole mess…”

Adrien shook his head. He was a good boy, and good boys didn’t listen in on other people’s conversations. Cook must have finished the cake by now, and maybe she would let him take a peek and try some of the leftover if he asked nicely enough.   

He skipped away from the door toward the kitchens. It was his Special Day, and he should get on with enjoying it.


	3. Countdown II

_4 years ago._

The living room was sweltering under the afternoon sun. Tom blew on his cup of herbal tea to cool it as Sabine offered Master Fu some petit fours. They were used to the old man’s visits—he was the only family friend of Sabine who had bothered to keep in touch since she had left the clan, and he brought advice and gossip from the wizarding world each time—but today’s conversation was on a more serious note. Master Fu had come to discuss Marinette’s schooling.  

The fan stuttered and stuck, refusing to continue rotating its head. Tom made a mental note to get that looked at—it had been malfunctioning more regularly, and summer above a bakery was too hot for guests to bear without some cooling.

“A year early would be advisable,” Master Fu told them. “Her magic is showing itself in more chaotic ways than can be safe. Marinette needs to learn control, and soon.”

Tom furrowed his brows. “She’s not done any harm,” he protested. “And Beauxbatons is so far away. Marinette is still young—one year can’t make much of a difference.”

His wife nodded decisively beside him. “We really are grateful that you’re looking out for her,” Sabine said. “We know you’ve taken great pains to protect us. The Chengs haven’t visited since Marinette was a baby.”

“But that is it, Sabine,” the older man said quietly. “Marinette needs to be trained because I cannot protect her from everything anymore. Have you been keeping up with news in the wizarding world?”

Sabine shook her head, and Tom took her dainty hand in his.

“That world isn’t for us,” he replied. “We don’t see the need.”

“But it is Marinette’s world,” Master Fu gently rebuked. “Whether you like it or not. She can’t be kept from magic, like a fish can’t be kept from water.”

“She’s too young,” Sabine stood firm. “We’ll send her when it’s time, next year. “

“Gabin Dereveux won the majority he needed to pass his Identity Transparency Act through the Assembly.” Fu’s voice is grim. “It comes into effect likely within the next two years. That will make every school required to make each student’s blood status explicit.”

Tom glanced at Sabine. His wife had paled at Master Fu’s words, but he could not understand why. Master Fu did not leave him in confusion for long.

“Dereveux is a figurehead for the most discontent, most vocal of the blood purists—witches and wizards who believe in maintaining magic among pureblood families. I assume he wanted to make it easier to know who is a pureblood and who isn’t, as a first step. That had been protected before, but now I fear the radicals have gained enough support to do far worse.”

Master Fu sighed. “Marinette is bright, and even that one year is an extra year’s worth of training before things spiral out of control.” He raised his voice slightly. “And it would make sure she doesn’t try to listen in on adult conversations.”

There was a small crash, and a sheepish, “I’m fine!” from the floor above them.

“Marinette!” Sabine stood up in concern.

The pajama-clad child opened her door and crept down the stairs. She stood in front of the three adults, guilty-eyed.

“Sorry maman, papa. I was just curious.”

“How much did you hear? Tom asked. “And what were you doing?”

 “Not much!” Marinette hastened to assure him. “Just something about Beauxbatons and, well…” she fidgeted a little. “I jammed the fan’s turning shaft from the inside so it would blow the sound to me up on the desk.”

Sabine did not look impressed.

“I’m sorry, maman,” Marinette repeated, contrite. “I just really wanted to know what was going on.”

Of course she would want to know, Tom sighed inwardly. Marinette was too aware of her surroundings for her own good, and curious to boot. Well, he and Sabine had always believed in raising her to have her own mind.

“Master Fu was suggesting that we send you to Beauxbatons this fall instead of next year, when you’d be the right age.” Tom grimaced. “We would like to keep you for another year, sweetie.”

Master Fu hummed. “Perhaps we should let Marinette choose. This will affect her the most, after all.”

“She’s barely ten years old,” Sabine cut in. “This is not a choice a child should make.”

“She will come home every weekend, Sabine, like all younger students. Beauxbatons is not Hogwarts. People understand the importance of family in a child’s formative years. I will personally make sure the Floo Network is connected to your house directly, and I would keep an eye on her—I do teach there. It will not be too different from the school she attends now.”

 “She’ll be younger than anyone there,” his wife retorted. “I don’t want my daughter having to play catch-up from day one.”

“Maman, papa,” Marinette finally piped up. Tom looked at her. “I want to go.”

Sabine clamped her mouth shut, and Tom frowned. “Marinette, your mother and I would much rather you go at your proper time.”

His daughter looked at them with eyes older than her years. “I think… I think it’d be for the best.”

He exchanged a glance with his wife. Neither of them had the experiences that Marinette would be living—this was one area they could not help her with.

After a long silence, Sabine tugged Marinette into a hug.

“Is that what you really want, Marinette?”

Their daughter hugged her back.

“It is.”

 

* * *

 

_3 years ago._

Emilie picked up the freshly printed _Vogue_ _Sorcière_ from Gabriel’s desk, beaming with pride. Adrien’s sunshine grin took center stage on the front cover, only growing wider as he waved at them from the page.

“The advance copy looks magnificent,” she cheered. “Our little boy looks so handsome, and on the front page already!”

A rare, genuine smile brightened her husband’s face as he ruffled Adrien’s hair.

“You did very well, Adrien. We’re both proud of you.”

At twelve years old, Adrien was already their greatest triumph. Bright, talented, and precocious, he exceeded their expectations at every turn—a perfect pureblood boy to carry on their family’s legacy. Neither Emilie nor Gabriel had any doubts that their son would be an extraordinary wizard.  

The real Adrien smiled at them both from his chair, grin a little more carefree than the moving photograph. “Thank you, Père.”

And polite and caring, to boot. Emilie pressed a happy peck to Adrien’s cheek.

“We should celebrate—this is a Special Day for you! Perhaps it’s time we got you a more grown-up broomstick; you’re becoming such a big boy already.”

She nodded again, satisfied with her idea. Adrien had been particularly interested in her cousin’s broomstick, one of those new Cirrus models, and flying was something else he could begin to learn in the safety of their home.

“Yes, we’ll get the newest model. We can find a good flying instructor for you, and you’ll be keeping up with your father in no time. He used to be an excellent Seeker, back at school.”

Gabriel made a noise of assent. “We can take a trip to Main Street, and make a day of it. We’ll go through the Tower entrance.”

The Eiffel Tower entrance to Wizarding Paris was Emilie’s favorite—she suspected Gabriel wanted to make it an outing to please her as well as Adrien. Though that particular entrance used a muggle tourist stop as the outward-facing anchor for the in-between dimensional space that Wizarding Paris occupied, the replica Eiffel Tower marking that entrance in the magical city itself was resplendent and an excellent place for witches and wizards to congregate.

She sighed happily, already excited. She could maybe arrange to meet some of Aunt Blanche’s associates while Gabriel and Adrien looked at broomsticks, now that she’d made so much more progress on her Miraculous project. And maybe a lunch in the sun—  

“Ah, Mère, Père… I was hoping I could ask for something else instead.” Adrien’s hesitant voice brought her back to reality. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“I was hoping, now that I’m older, that I could perhaps begin my studies at Beauxbatons. The tutors do their best, but I wanted to meet more people, go to school like regular students. Like Chloe.”

“No.” Emilie hated denying her son anything, but this was one thing she would not yield on. Her golden son would not be sent away from her in a school where the standards were constantly being lowered, social life be damned. The kind of people he would meet, the habits that might rub off on him, and the danger he could be put in considering his rising fame… “Darling, it’s not safe. Your father and I want you here with us, where we can keep you from harm.”

“It seems that Chloe may not be as good an influence as we thought, if she’s filling your head with ideas like this,” Gabriel added sternly. “We may have to reevaluate having her over so often.”

“No, Père!” Adrien stood up, shaking his head. “She never encouraged this. I just wanted to meet more people, that’s all. I love you both, but I want to learn how to make more friends, to get along with people who aren’t in the household.”

She shared a wordless look with Gabriel before sighing. “We can arrange more social events for you to meet new people, love. Go out on more outings. But Beauxbatons, I’m afraid not.”

Her son still looked disappointed, but did not express it. “Yes, I understand.”

Emilie smiled. “That’s my good boy.”

 

Their outing was a splendid success. Adrien did not bring up Beauxbatons again.


	4. Countdown I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is ticking.

_2 years ago._

The before-class chatter was oddly loud when Marinette ran into Potions class, rushing to beat the bell. She settled into her seat near the front alone—she had shared a workbench with Nino for most of this year, but around winter break he had cited cooties as the reason for moving to sit with Nathanael instead—and began to listen in. Unsurprisingly, Chloe was at the center of the hubbub.  

“Daddy says it’s about time Dereveux’s act got implemented,” the girl was saying. “Finally the imbeciles at the Assembly figured out how to make it work properly. Apparently some of the old idiots thought that things were fine the way things were, with nobody telling anyone about their blood status. I mean, it's not like we don't know who really belongs here, anyway.”

Sabrina mimicked Chloe’s haughty sniff. “That’s right!”

“What does it matter, anyway?” Alix rolled her eyes. “It's still rude, and it clearly doesn’t decide how smart or sensible you are.”

“Excuse me? Of course it matters. For example, now we know that redhead here is a full mudblood to five generations back.” To Marinette’s horror, Chloe swaggered over to where Nathanael was sitting and snatched the piece of paper he was drawing on off his desk.

“Hey, that’s mine—“

“Which means,” She continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “he should go back and live with the muggles, not make pathetic drawings while we learn about magic.”

Chloe ripped up the paper into ribbons, then let them flutter down onto his desk. Chloe had always been awful, but this crossed a line. And yet nobody was telling her to stop, not even Nathanael. The boy only looked down at the jagged strips of paper on his desk.  

Somebody had to stand up to Chloe.  And if nobody else could, she would. Marinette found her voice and stood up from her seat.

“Apologize to Nathanael, Chloe. You shouldn’t have ripped his work up.” Her voice didn’t waver. It felt like the entire class was swiveling to look at her, surprised by her speaking up. Chloe turned pink and turned her nose up.

“Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous,” the girl sneered, looking down at her. “Who do you think you are, anyway? You’ve been lying to us too, pretending you were like the rest of us.”

Marinette flared up. She hated liars, and she would not tolerate being cast as one. “I haven’t lied to _anyone_. You need to stop bullying people.”

“Oh, really? Then how come you never mentioned that your mother was a _squib_ , Marinette Dupain- _Cheng_? That’s worthless, worse than a muggle, because it means there’s something so wrong with her that not even her magic blood could work.”

“I didn’t hide it—no one asked! And my mother is not—“

Chloe raised her voice, cutting her off. “Blah blah blah. You’re not worth listening to. Go back to baking bread with your dumb muggle father and useless squib mother. You’ll probably fail out of here soon, anyway.”

Antoine laughed at that, and so did Esteban. Some of the girls were sniggering too. Marinette stuttered. “That doesn’t— you don’t know—“

"Shut up! Don't you know you're supposed to listen to your betters?"

"You're not—"

"Oh, look at poor Marinette, can't even use words properly."

Her eyes flicked to Nino, to Nathanael, hoping for help. Nathanael only looked down at the desk, looking as if he were trying to make himself disappear. Nino’s head was turned away. And the other students were still jeering as Chloe continued to insult her family. The entire class was laughing at her now, agreeing with Chloe and mocking her—

She ran. She grabbed her bag and fled the classroom, rushing through the halls to a nearly hidden closet she’d found last year. Her vision blurred with tears, and she slammed the door behind her to lock it.

No amount of ice sculptures or fancy gardens would fill the loneliness here. Marinette curled up against the walls, sobbing. For a good while, she let herself cry. She had never felt so small and worthless as she did now.

Eventually, she ran out of tears. Her head hurt, but there was an empty clarity in her mind now that her emotions had run itself dry.  

Breathe in. Crying would help nothing.

Breathe out. Second year was already close to done.

Breathe in. No one had tried to stand up for her.

Breathe out. She would have to protect herself, then.

Marinette took a shuddering breath, feeling cried out and hollow. She knew that she was in the right, that Chloe was a bully not worth her time. But fighting with the girl and her posse would only get her bullied.

She did not know what mattered so greatly about who her parents were, how magical they were. Maman and Papa loved her, and she wouldn’t trade that for the world.  But if that mattered so much for her classmates, she wouldn’t give them the chance to hurt her more.

There was absolutely no way she would tell her parents what happened today. Marinette would deal with this herself—maman and papa were worried enough that she was still too young, and this would only compound their fears. She would just keep her head down and learn to help herself. She was bright enough—even if she didn’t have friends to help her, she could learn to be self-sufficient, to excel. They would think nothing was wrong if she brought back stellar results each time.

Marinette scrubbed at her face again. Her parents would worry if she went home before class ended. She didn’t know how long she had been here, but surely Potions class must be over. She should get to Charms, finish out her day. And if she did not have friends to hang out with after class… well, that meant more time for her to master her lessons and show that she wasn’t worthless.

She took another deep breath, and opened the closet door. No one was waiting outside or had bothered to look for her, but that was okay.

Marinette would keep her head held high. That was the least she could do for her parents.

 

* * *

_1 year ago._

Gabriel had not slept in three days.

Emilie was missing. He should have accompanied her, should have known not to let her go off to Tibet alone. Hang Paris Fashion Week—there was nothing more important than ensuring Emilie’s safety, and yet he had thought nothing of her exploring the temples alone.

She must be alive. Emilie was a powerful witch, and knowledgeable in the magic and lore of the Miraculous. Studying that strand of magic was her life’s work—she would not have died so easily. And if she had, he would have known. The promise-spell woven with their marriage would have made sure of it.

Emilie was alive—there was no alternative. But she had not returned to him and Adrien, whom he knew she loved above her own life. If she were free, she would already be back.

Not dead, and not free. Something was stopping her from coming back to them. She must have triggered some arcane trap, leaving behind only an old book and a peacock brooch scavenged from her first foray.

He stared at them now, deep in thought. This was the second Miraculous recovered by Emilie’s family over the course of the centuries. The first, a butterfly cravat pin, was relatively well-researched, although nobody had been able to activate its powers. Perhaps the book would have answers.

Gabriel had never been terribly interested in the subject of the Miraculous—that had been Emilie’s passion. But now that it might be the only way to bring her back, he found himself determined to use whatever powers it had.

He locked himself in his home office, seeing no one and reading through everything Emilie had ever written on the Miraculous. Even his son was turned away when he tried to enter. Adrien would soon have his mother back—the sooner Gabriel harnessed the power of the Miraculous, the faster this would all just be an old memory for their family. Until then, his assistant Nathalie was under strict orders to keep Adrien under watch and in the manor. Gabriel would not risk his only family left to the outside world, especially not now.

The rest of the world probably thought he was grieving. Let them believe that—he had not the time nor the inclination to disprove their perception.

Sometime in the haze of that desperate search, Nathalie came in to tell him Adrien had been caught trying to sneak out to the Ministry building in the center of Wizarding Paris. The Bourgeois chit apparently had gotten it into his son’s head to enroll himself into Beauxbatons. That was not important—he was too busy trying to get Adrien’s mother back to deal with the bad influence the girl clearly was. He instructed Nathalie and Adrien’s bodyguard to be more diligent in protecting the boy, and went back to work.

When he finally emerged, several months later, it was to half-victory. The butterfly brooch did not have the power to save Emilie, but there were two Miraculous that could. The first and strongest of the Miraculous combined would grant him that wish, and they would be the first to activate should another Miraculous be misused for ill. A Miraculous that he happened to have.

Adrien would have to be sent away. Gabriel would succeed, but Adrien must not know the lengths his father had gone to return his mother. And on the unthinkable chance that Gabriel failed, Adrien must be seen as innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Perhaps it was time Adrien was granted his wish of attending Beauxbatons—heavily supervised, of course. Headmaster Damocles would be persuaded to accommodate special measures for his son.

It was settled. Gabriel had a plan and the means to execute it; there was no point in dallying. He opened the door to call Nathalie.

“Bring in my son,” he told her. “I would like to speak to Adrien.”

She raised her eyebrows but showed no other traces of surprise. As she nodded and walked away, Gabriel tamped down the faint guilt sprouting from having to send their son away.

“Wait for me, my love,” he murmured to Emilie’s smiling portrait. “I’ll find you soon.”

 

* * *

  _Present day._

“ _Expecto patronum!”_

Silvery mist explodes from Marinette’s wand, leaving her gasping at the unexpected success. Not a complete one, no—she would not expect a fully corporeal one yet—but the mist did not dissipate, protean as it swirled around her. Here a hint of cat ears, there a flutter of wings. Perhaps like her, her patronus had not yet decided what it wanted to be.

Marinette dismisses the wisps with a flick of her wand. At least she has improved over the summer, despite not being allowed to exercise magic at home. Master Fu’s push to allow students who wished to practice magic to return to Beauxbatons a week early had been a very welcome one. Fourth year is starting, and this may be the only time this year she can practice in peace.

Sighing, she lets herself fall back onto the bed she would be using for the year. This would be the first year that her class would be required to live at Beauxbatons over the week; fourth years were allowed to return home for the weekends, but no longer would they be allowed to commute to school each day through the Floo Network as in previous years. Marinette is relieved that everyone is assigned individual rooms—she has no friend close enough to look forward to sharing a room with.

She has not much to look forward to this year, to be honest. With Chloe and Sabrina once again in all of her classes, Marinette can only expect their petty torment to continue. She will keep her head down, focus on her studies, and get through this year.

Alone or not, Marinette will survive this year as she has the previous ones. This world still holds wonder for her, even if its occupants don’t.  She’ll keep convincing her classmates and teachers that she belongs here just as they do.

Maybe, if she does well enough, she’ll convince herself as well.  


End file.
